Nothing to Be Afraid Of
by Bella Lumina
Summary: The take-down of SD-6 opens new paths for Sydney and Vaughn.


**"Nothing to Be Afraid Of"**

  
  
**Author**: Bella  
**E-mail**: bella_lumina@yahoo.com  
**Rating**: NC-17 for sexual situations  
**Disclaimer**: The characters (except Agent Granger) are not mine.  
**Spoilers**: Everything up to and including "The Confession."  
**Notes**: Thanks to Cassandra for the amazing beta-reading! :)  
**Summary**: The take-down of SD-6 opens new paths for Sydney and Vaughn.   
  


The first night spent together is always unique. 

She awakens slowly, the faint light of morning illuminating her face, and she stretches, feeling some of her muscles groan in protest. Confused, she rolls over to glance at him, but he isn't there; only the impression left in his pillow confirms that he has been there at all. She sits up, trying to smooth down her wild morning hair and pulling the covers up to her neck. Only when she hears the shower running through the half-open bathroom door does she realize where he is, and she lays back, luxuriating in the fact that she doesn't have to do anything today but stay exactly where she is. 

She takes the opportunity to study the unfamiliar room. It is a typical man's room, with simple wooden furniture and light, beige-colored walls. His comforter is blue plaid; the sheets are dark navy blue, and she remembers briefly the way that they had contrasted with the light tan of his skin. She smiles to herself, glancing over to see a tattered copy of _Of Mice and Men _and a digital alarm clock on his bedside table. A pair of running shoes are resting askew in the corner as if they had been tossed there haphazardly. On his tall dresser, a few photographs of friends and family she doesn't know sit beside his wallet and his watch. There are a few pieces of artwork on the wall, three crisp black-and-white Ansel Adams Yosemite prints in thin black poster frames. A rag rug lays on the hardwood floor beside the bed, and she is amused to see her clothes still laying there in a crumpled heap. 

The water stops running in the shower, and she can hear the soft metallic scrape of the shower curtain being pulled to the side. She imagines him stepping out of the shower, his skin glistening with water droplets as he grabs a towel and dries himself off. She can almost see his hair plastered to his skull and his hands and feet reddened from the hot water. 

She rolls onto her stomach, reaching one arm over to drape across his side of the bed, pressing her face into her pillow. She's tired, and she's actually a little sore; they had been so desperate for each other last night. They don't have to hide anymore; Sloane is gone, SD-6 is gone, the danger is gone. She's loved him for a year, but she hasn't even been able to come to his apartment before last night. A year and a half of pent-up sexual tension had finally exploded, and it had felt wonderful and extremely right. 

It has been two years since she had found out about her mother's real occupation, since they had found out that they were inextricably tied together not only by their mutual friendship and attraction but also by the sickening sins of their parents. Maybe this is the ultimate forgiveness for all of the mistakes of the past, she muses. The son of the victim and the daughter of the murderer falling in love, finally making love; perhaps that somehow corrects everything. 

*** 

"Sydney, I need you to stay calm," his voice explained over her cell phone line. 

She furrowed her brow, glancing around the office. "You shouldn't be calling me here." 

"It's okay," he assured her. "Sydney, in a few minutes CIA agents are going to storm your building. I need you to stay calm." 

Breathing slowly and deeply, she replied, "It's over?" 

"It should be in a few minutes," he answered. "Syd, when the agents come in, I want you to get under your desk and stay there." 

"Stay on the phone with me," she requested quietly. "Please?" 

"I wasn't going to hang up," he replied. "I'll be right here." 

"Michael, when did this happen?" She grabbed her purse from the deep drawer at the bottom of her desk, then flipped the power switch on her computer. 

"I got the information about twenty minutes ago," he responded. "Eric came by my office and let me know. He thought I might want to be here." 

"Are you here?" she whispered. "Where are you?" 

"I'm in the parking lot," he answered. "Syd, just…be careful. Watch out. The agents have seen photographs of you and Dixon, they know you. But just in case." 

"Dixon's not here," she informed him quietly. "He had to take one of his kids to the doctor." 

"Okay…okay," he replied, and she hears him murmur, "Marcus Dixon isn't in the building; pass that on to Granger, will you?" 

"What are you planning?" she questioned, bending over her desk, pretending to do paperwork. 

"I'm not planning anything," he answered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I'm the office expert on nuclear proliferation now, remember?" 

"I hate Lambert," she whispered, her voice full of venom. "What are _they_ planning?" 

"Fifteen agents with semi-automatics," he answered. "As far as I know, they'll be infiltrating the building quietly. They want to take Sloane and Carl Dreyer into custody first; several of the other agents are going to be held in the building until a team from Langley gets here." He paused. "I've talked to one of the agents; he's a friend of mine. He's going to get you out of the building, but you have to stay still, and you have to stay under your desk." 

"I can do that," she assured him. "You're in the parking lot?" 

She heard him chuckle. "I'm sitting on the hood of your car." 

She couldn't suppress her smile. "Comfortable?" 

"Extremely," he replied confidently. "You're going to be fine, Syd." 

"I trust you," she replied softly. "Love you, Michael." 

He sighed. "I love you. You know that." He paused. "When you get out here, I'm going to kiss you. In broad daylight. In front of everyone." 

She bit her lip, trying to hide a wide grin. "I can't wait." 

"Neither can I," he returned. He paused, and she could hear him talking with someone nearby. "Syd, they're moving in. When you see them walk through the doorway, get under your desk, okay?" 

She exhaled. "I'm ready." 

"Okay," he replied. "Wait…Eric wants to talk to you." 

There was a shuffling sound, and then her new handler's familiar voice became clear. "How are you doing, Syd?" 

"I'm fine," she replied. "A little nervous. Really excited." 

"Good," he answered. "Mike told you what's going to happen?" 

"He told me what he knew," she explained softly, scanning the office space methodically. 

"The agent who will bring you out of the building is named Granger," Weiss explained. "He knows where your desk is; we've tapped into the security cameras. I'd tell you to wave, but you know…" 

She smiled, glancing at the doorway. She heard footsteps in the hall. "They're here," she whispered, grabbing her coat and wrapping it around her. She waited until the door opened, then slipped under her desk. "Okay, I'm under my desk." 

The door burst open, and agents poured into the room. "Everybody freeze!" they barked. 

"Put Michael back on," she requested, swallowing hard. 

Another shuffle of the phone, and Vaughn's familiar voice was back. "Doing okay?" 

She exhaled, watching the scuffle of shoes on the metal floor. "The floor's cold," she replied. 

A shot rang out, and she gasped loudly. "Sydney?" he asked quickly, nervously. 

"I'm okay," she replied. "That was really close to me." 

"Where the hell is Granger?" she could hear Vaughn ask. "Syd, sit tight." 

Another shot, this one louder than the last. Suddenly the room erupted in gunfire. "I love you, Michael…I love you…" 

"Shh…" he soothed. "I love you, too…you're going to be fine. Just hang in there." 

"I will," she said, and then the line went fuzzy. "Michael? Michael!" she gasped, staring at the phone, finally flipping it shut and tucking it into her purse. 

Loud voices shouted directions to some of the other agents; Sydney curled tightly against the metal side of her desk. "I've located Bristow's desk," she heard one of them say softly. 

An agent crouched beside her desk, peering down at her. "Sydney? I'm Agent Granger. Come with me…" 

She accepted his outstretched hand, and he pulled her to her feet, tucking her close to his side as he sprinted across the room. "Agent Vaughn and Agent Weiss are waiting for us in the parking lot," he explained. 

"Is everything okay outside?" she asked automatically. "I was on my cell phone talking to Vaughn, and the line went dead." 

"We cut the tech lines in the building," he explained. "We also blocked wireless transmission. He must not have known that." 

"Probably not," she agreed. When Devlin had discovered that she and Vaughn were literally _thisclose_ to acting on their mutual feelings six months before, he had abruptly reassigned Weiss as her handler. Since then, Vaughn had been reassigned, and therefore was completely out of the loop; the only way they could see each other was through Weiss. Occasionally, Weiss had even let Vaughn meet Sydney in his place instead of just bringing him along. They owed Weiss a lot. 

They hurried down staircase after staircase, heading for the exit. "You're almost there," he promised. 

The door opened, and she saw him, his back turned toward her. He was wearing a long black overcoat and pacing slowly in front of her car, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. His brown hair was disheveled, and she could already tell that he looked amazing. Weiss saw her and pointed her out to him, and Vaughn finally turned toward her, his green eyes dazzling in the late afternoon sun. He jogged across the parking lot toward her. She broke free from Granger's protective hold and bridged the last few feet that separated them. He caught her up in his arms and held her tightly. 

"Hey, baby," he greeted, and when she looked up, he was smiling gently at her. 

She smiled back, emotions washing over her relentlessly; she tried to stop her tears from coming, but couldn't hold them back. He held her even tighter as she sobbed against his shoulder; he kissed her forehead and rested his cheek against her hair, leading her back toward the safety of the CIA agents near her car. He stopped her, letting her rest against her car, and pulled her in to kiss her soundly. She twined her arms about his neck, pulling him closer, and returned the kiss enthusiastically. He tasted like peppermints and coffee; he smelled of clean soap and light cologne. He broke this kiss for a moment, whispering in her ear, "I'm going to take you home with me tonight." 

She shivered at his words, nodding and sighing, resting her face in his neck. It was so right; it was the two of them, together, with nothing to be afraid of. This was perfect, and it was what she had wanted for so long. He protectively insisted that she sit in the back seat of the armed Agency SUV until the mission was over. 

An hour later, it was all over; Sloane was in CIA custody, the agents had been sorted into guilty and non-guilty camps. After two life-sucking, devastating, completely insane years, it was all over. "Take me home with you now," she murmured as the last CIA agents trooped out of the building. 

And he did. 

*** 

He walks out of the bathroom with a thick white towel wrapped around his waist, his hair sticking up adorably. She wishes she had been the first to wake up; she wonders what he looks like when he sleeps. Smiling to herself, she realizes that she won't have to wait long to find out the answer to that question, and that makes her so incredibly happy that she wants to jump up and shout about it. 

She watches him greedily as he walks back to the bathroom, glancing in the mirror. He frowns at his expression, and she nearly laughs. She wants to stay quiet, wants a few more minutes of watching him without him getting self-conscious. He grabs his toothbrush from its resting place beside the sink and squeezes blue toothpaste onto it; he brushes his teeth vigorously, splashes his face with water, and walks back into the bedroom. 

She lets her eyes sweep over him; he's as amazingly handsome in the muted morning light as he was in the glowing lamplight the night before. The way the light plays against the muscles of his well-sculpted arms and back reminds her of a Velasquez painting she'd seen once in Madrid. She remembers clutching at his back during the night, kneading the muscles with her fingertips as he groaned against her collarbone. 

His legs are equally muscled, and she watches as he stretches sleepily. He stretches again, flexing the muscles in his arms and back, and winces slightly. He must be as sore as she is, she muses. It makes her feel wonderful. 

*** 

They'd arrived at his apartment not long after, and had almost immediately fallen into bed. More than a year of tension was not diffused slowly; their bodies had moved together almost frantically, as if trying to make up for lost time. He shrugged off his coat without breaking their kiss; her fingers shook slightly as she unbuttoned his dress shirt. "I didn't think we'd ever end up beating them," he confided to her as he slid her dress off of her shoulders. 

"You thought we'd be playing that stupid cat-and-mouse game forever?" she asked, running her cool lips over the warm skin of his jaw. 

He exhaled shakily. "I thought it would end when we first started," he rephrased. "But as soon as we…got involved, I figured it would go on forever. What's it called? Murphy's Law?" 

"Mm-hm," she responded, helping him out of his holster before pushing his dress shirt to the floor. "I knew that it would be over eventually." 

"How did you know?" he asked, letting her dress pool on the floor. He stroked the skin of her back softly, confidently. 

"Because I've had too much bad luck already," she answered, grinning at him. "You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time, and fate wouldn't take that away from me again." 

He looked at her seriously, before smiling and leaning in to kiss her deeply. "I'm going to make love to you," he announced, and she laughed. 

"And here I thought we were going to play Scrabble or something…" she deadpanned, earning a raised eyebrow and a smirk from him. 

"I'm going to make love to you," he repeated firmly. "We're going to forget about everything bad that happened today." 

She nodded, pressing her hands against his chest and trailing her fingertips lightly down to his abdomen, delighting in the way that the muscles jumped under her touch. 

"I've wanted you for so long," he rasped, kissing lightly down her neck. He twined his fingers through hers, backing her toward his open bedroom door. 

"It's been a long time for me," she warned him. "It might be a little…" 

"It's been a while for me, too," he replied. "Not since Alice." 

She nodded. "Not since Danny." 

"That was a long time ago," he agreed. "You're okay with this?" 

"Are you kidding me?" she asked. "I want you…I've wanted you since you kissed me the first time." 

"In the warehouse," he reminisced. "I couldn't believe I'd done that." 

"I was so glad that you finally did," she answered, exhaling. She lifted her face to kiss him softly on the mouth. 

"I want you," he repeated, pulling her through the open door and onto his bed. 

"Then take me," she urged. 

They moved together naturally; his body fit so perfectly with hers that it seemed they were made for each other. He touched her gently, molding her breasts with his hands, sucking gently at the skin where her neck met her shoulder. 

"Tell me what you want," he rasped, nipping at her earlobe. 

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly, squirming underneath him. "Lose the pants, maybe. That could help." 

He grinned at her, letting her undo his belt buckle and his pants fly. "I've never been this close to you," she whispered, her voice rough. "Your skin feels amazing." 

He threw his pants to the floor, reaching for the elastic on her underwear and kissing her stomach as he slid them off of her. "Tell me what you want," he repeated. 

"Kiss me," she said, and he did; he kissed her until she couldn't see straight or think straight. He rolled completely on top of her, and she could feel him hard against her stomach. The only thing her brain was processing was the amazing green color of his eyes. 

She took a deep breath. "Touch me." 

He complied, gliding his hands all over her body, from her breasts to her abdomen to the place between her legs where she ached for him the most. He gently found the places that made her gasp and cry out, moving his fingers in slow, tight circles until she was panting and grinding against him, her eyes shut tightly. 

"Make love to me," she cried out, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist. "I want you inside me…" 

He stripped off his boxers and moved so that he was resting against her, his hands moving to clutch at her hips. "I'm going to go slowly," he gasped out, resting his forehead against hers. "Tell me…tell me if I'm hurting you. I know it's been a long time…" 

"You won't," she reassured him, arching up to him. "Please…" 

Carefully, he slid inside her, watching her face. His breathing was ragged; he moaned softly when he could go no further. "Okay?" 

She nodded, locking her legs tighter around him and cupping his face in her hands. "I love you," she murmured, closing her eyes as he began to move slowly within her. She gasped, crying out softly, then moaning louder. 

He let out a harsh, shaking breath. "God, that's so good…I _love _you," he muttered, closing his eyes as he pushed into her over and over. He groaned loudly. 

"Don't stop…" she pleaded, grasping the bunched muscles of his back. "Michael…" 

She came quickly, crying out his name. He followed soon, lowering his forehead to rest against her shoulder. "Oh, Jesus…_Sydney_…" 

They laid together, breathing deeply as they came down. His hands swept her body as she massaged his neck. "You don't ever have to be afraid again," he promised, rolling onto his back and pulling her to his side. 

She yawned, stroking his chest lightly. "This has been the best day." 

He watched her fall asleep, wondering at how this had all ended so well. He couldn't have asked for anything better than her. 

*** 

He grabs a pair of blue boxer shorts from the dresser and pulls them on; he searches through his closet for an unwrinkled white shirt, finally finding one and shrugging it on, leaving it unbuttoned. She closes her eyes lazily and opens them again, smiling as he realizes that she's awake. He grins, runs a hand through his wet hair, and moves to sit beside her on the bed. "Morning," he whispers, leaning down to kiss her just under her jaw line. She shivers, replying to him and smiling sleepily. 

"Why are you out of bed?" she asks, her voice still thick with sleep. 

The sheets fall and pool around her waist as she sits up to move toward him, embracing him and fitting her body up against his. "I have to go to work," he replies regretfully. 

She makes a face as he leans over to kiss her shoulder. "Call in sick. Stay with me." 

"I wish I could," he answers, frowning. He traces the curve of her spine with light fingertips. "Devlin left a message on my machine, though, and I have to go in for a while. I'm going to take the afternoon off." 

Yawning, she rasps, "Let's go somewhere." 

He pulls away slightly and raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd want to camp right here for the entire day." 

"Not by myself," she disagrees. "Only if you're here, too." 

He grins, leaning in to kiss her, but she stops him, wrinkling her nose. "Don't…morning breath." He settles for kissing her nose, then her forehead, then her cheeks, and finally, the spot on her neck that makes her gasp. She giggles, wrapping her arms tighter around him. "Don't leave," she requests again. 

"I have to," he repeats remorsefully. "I'm sorry, Syd." 

She shakes her head. "It's okay…I should probably go home and change anyway. Francie will wonder what's happened to me." 

"I'm going to come over to your house at three, and we're going to leave and drive up the coast," he says matter-of-factly. 

"Where will we go?" 

He strokes her back gently, feeling her lips brushing his just-shaven cheeks. "Doesn't matter." 

"We can stay in some gorgeous cabin and not sleep at all," she yawns. 

He grins suggestively. "Sounds like a plan." 

"I love you," she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder. "I've loved you for a long time, Michael." 

"I know," he replies, twining his fingers through hers. "I love you, too." 

She smiles against his neck. "If you aren't at my house by three o'clock, I'm coming to your office. I'm going to drive over there and park in the broad daylight and smile at the security guards. I'm not going to be afraid anymore," she finishes triumphantly. 

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," he agrees. "You did it, Syd. We took them down." 

Sighing, she lays back on the bed, pulling him down on top of her. "Don't leave," she tries once more, damning her morning breath and kissing him on the mouth. 

"That's so tempting…" he begins, sighing. "I can't. I'll be at your house at three." 

"Promise me," she requests, trailing fingertips down his chest. 

"I promise," he replies confidently, feathering kisses on her eyelids and forehead. 

And, at two fifty-five that afternoon, he shows up at her house. He recognizes her Land Rover in the driveway, plus one unfamiliar car that he assumes is Francie's. Pulling up, he sees her open the front door and grin at him. She looks amazing; her hair is pulled back from her face haphazardly, and she's dressed in comfortable clothes: a T-shirt, a pair of loose linen pants, and some well-worn flip-flops. He glances down at the button-down and jeans he'd thrown on after work and decides that they're fairly appropriate. 

"Come in?" she requests, and he nods, walking through the door and giving her a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. She holds his hand, pulling his arm about her waist. "Work?" 

"Boring," he replies. "I wish I would have stayed with you." 

She grins. "Me, too." She walks him into the living room. Her house is comfortable; warm, cozy furniture and soothing colors on the walls. "Michael, I'd like you to meet Francie. Francie, this is Michael." 

Francie rises from her seat on the couch and gives him a dazzling grin. He reaches out and briefly squeezes her hand. "Hi, Michael. It's nice to meet you." She sits back down. "Syd's told me all about you." 

He raises an eyebrow, smiling. "I hope it's been mostly good?" 

"I'd say that," Francie answers, smirking. "Sit." 

Alarmed, he looks over at Sydney, who sighs, rolls her eyes, and motions toward the couch. "Okay, let's get this over with already…" 

"Where do you work?" Francie asks abruptly. 

He fidgets, glancing over at Sydney. "I work for the government." 

Francie raises an eyebrow. "Post office?" 

He snorts. "Not exactly." 

"He works for the CIA, Francie," Sydney explains quickly, earning a surprised glance from him. "Don't ask anymore questions about it, okay?" 

Francie is obviously surprised, too, and continues, "Okay, then. Umm…how often do you see your parents?" 

Sydney winces again, and he sighs. "I saw my mother last weekend. My father's been dead since I was eight." 

Francie drops her face into her hands. "You know, you're not making the Inquisition easy." 

"You have a name for this?" he asks incredulously, and Sydney laughs out loud. 

"She never lets me leave the house without grilling my date first," Sydney explains. "Will started calling it the Inquisition." 

"I'm a little out of practice, you'll have to excuse me," Francie says primly, and Sydney laughs so hard that he thinks she might fall off the sofa. "Ever been married?" 

"No," he replies, watching Sydney try to catch her breath. 

"Eyes forward, buddy," Francie continues in her best _NYPD Blue_ voice, and Sydney snorts. "Ever been engaged?" 

"No." 

"Ever been in jail?" 

"No. I got a speeding ticket once." 

"I'm filing that away for future reference," Francie informs him. "How long have you known Sydney?" 

"Two years," he answers confidently. 

"Wait…I thought you said that you'd only known him for a year and a half, Syd," Francie says, turning her attention to Sydney. 

"I've known him for two years, we've been involved for a year and a half," Sydney explains. 

Francie shakes her head. "I'm still upset that I'm only now finding out about this." 

"We were keeping things quiet," Sydney answers softly, moving closer to him. 

"For a year and a half?" 

"We had to, Francie," she continues. "It had to do with his job." And our lives, he thinks. 

"Okay, okay," Francie sighs. "You love her, right?" 

"Very much," he answers confidently, and Francie softens, smiling. 

"Okay, then. You've passed the test. Welcome to the family," Francie says, reaching across the coffee table to shake his hand. "See, that was painless, right?" 

"I've seen worse," he replies, smiling. 

She peers at his dimples. "If the two of you ever have children, they're going to have canyons in their cheeks." 

Sydney rolls her eyes. "We're going to be gone for the weekend," she says, disentangling from him and moving to rearrange a stack of papers and books on the coffee table. 

"Ooh, vacation," Francie coos. "Wish I had the time for that. Of course, now that you've quit that dead-end job of yours, you should have plenty of time to fill up." 

"Time to fill up with classes," Sydney corrects, dropping one of the books into her backpack and tossing it to the floor by the dining room table. "But that can wait." She grins at him, and he winks at her. 

Francie grins at them. "Where are you going?" 

They both shrug. "I guess we'll know when we get there," he remarks, and Sydney nods. 

"Have a great time," Francie says, hugging Sydney quickly. "You deserve it. I've got to get to work." 

"See you on Saturday, then," Sydney replies. 

"I'll be here. We can have dinner or something." Francie turns to him suddenly. "There are so many people that you still need to meet…" 

"I can't wait," he replies genuinely, earning a smile from Francie. 

Sydney grabs a duffel bag in one hand and his hand in the other. "Love you, Francie. We'll see you later." 

"Bye," Francie calls as they walk out the door. 

"I love your new car," Sydney sighs, tossing her bag into the back seat. "It's not nearly so imposing as the old one." 

"The old one was your typical 'I'm a CIA agent, so don't pull me over' kind of car," he agrees. His new vehicle is a comfortable green Jeep Cherokee. 

She climbs into the passenger seat and leans back sleepily. "I fell asleep after you left. I didn't get home until noon," she says, yawning. 

He grins, his dimples flaring. "I nearly fell asleep on my desk, and everyone looked at me funny all day." 

"They knew that you got some last night," she giggles, and he laughs out loud as he pulls out of the driveway. 

"Does it show?" he teases, and she snickers. 

"Well, I can tell," she replies. 

"You were there," he points out, and she smiles. 

"Yeah, I think I remember that, now that you mention it," she replies lightly, grabbing his free hand and holding it in both of hers. 

They drive aimlessly, finally ending up at a bed-and-breakfast on the beach as the sun sets. She's resting comfortably in the passenger's seat, wrapped up in a blanket he keeps in his car. His hand rests lightly on her knee. "Stop here?" she asks, and he nods. "I'm tired." 

"I thought we weren't going to sleep at all," he teases her, and she rolls her eyes at him. 

"We're going to sleep a little bit," she amends. "I'm exhausted." 

She leans on him as they walk up to the B&B, and they check in for the night. Later, as she lays against him, her eyes drooping with sleep, he notices that she's finally relaxed. Even in her sleep the night before, she had been restless. "Night," she whispers softly, rubbing her cheek against the skin of his shoulder. 

"Night," he replies. 

And they sleep soundly. 

FIN 

January 18, 2002 


End file.
